Problem Areas
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Kurt comes home from a rare Saturday work day, eager to go out on a date with his husband. But he finds Blaine acting strange, withdrawn, with odd Sharpie marks all over his skin. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


_**Okay, so, I've been a little down on myself, and this is something I've been toying around with. I just recently got motivated to finish it. This is something that actually happened to me a long time ago when I started modeling, I was just way sassier back then with how I handled it xD I don't know for sure if they do it now, but to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised. Warning for angst, body issues, self-esteem issues, and body shaming. Mention of Sam. Kurt and Blaine still attend NYADA, but Kurt works at Vogue.**_

"Hey, honey! I'm home!" Kurt announces while he struggles with full hands to unlock the door to the loft. He's relieved to finally be home. He hates working on Saturdays. Saturdays and Sundays are the only days he and Blaine get to spend 100% alone with each other. They turn off their phones, stay in bed all day, ignore the occasional knocks on the door from friends who can't take a hint. Kurt loves his job at _Vogue_. He loves his boss, Isabelle. But Saturdays are reserved for him and his husband.

Thank God this only happens once in a blue moon.

The one good thing that came from working today was it gave Blaine an opportunity to spend some bro time with Sam. Ever since Sam got signed on at Wilhelmina, he's been too busy working to stop by. Not that Kurt minds. He's glad that Sam found his niche in the New York modeling world, especially since it removed him from their couch. But he could tell that Blaine missed him, and all of the creepy bonding stuff they used to do.

Seriously. Kurt doesn't know what he was more bothered by – Sam's obsession with Star Wars fanfiction, or Blaine encouraging it, not only reading it to Sam before he went to sleep every night, but also acting out the voices.

One night, after Sam moved out, Blaine had even suggested roleplaying a particularly smutty fanfic he'd discovered to Kurt.

Kurt said no. He wasn't touching that with a ten-foot pole.

"Blaine?" Kurt calls when Blaine doesn't answer. "Are you home?"

"Uh, yeah," Blaine replies in an anxious voice. "Yeah, I'm home. I'm in the bedroom."

"Good! Get dressed! We're going out on a date!" Kurt shuts the door behind him with a push of his foot. "Dinner, remember? You chose the spot."

"No, uh … I don't think I want to go out to dinner. I, uh …"

"Why not? You've been wanting to go to that new Ethiopian place for over a week now!" Kurt drops his belongings on the sofa - messenger bag, portfolios, his reusable lunch bag, his coat - and heads for their room. "Do you feel sick? Ugh! I knew that eating cottage cheese three days past the sell by date wasn't a good idea."

"Uh, no. It's not that. I just …"

Kurt stutters to a stop inside the doorway to their room when he sees his husband sitting on the bed in nothing but his purple briefs. Kurt would normally grin like a frisky cat at the sight of his hot, half-dressed man and then _pounce_ , except Blaine looks like he's in pain - arms holding his stomach, hunched over, staring down at the floor.

"Blaine? Blaine, are you …?" Kurt rushes in. He's almost at the bed when he sees strange black marks on Blaine's skin – circles, dashes, and in a few cases, x's. "What are … what are those, Blaine?" Kurt traces one mark on the back of Blaine's bicep – a dark circle that looks like it may have been made with a Sharpie. Blaine's eyes dart to the mirror to look at Kurt, but his gaze falls short of his face. He looks back at the floor and winds his arms tighter.

"They're, uh … I got them at … Sam and I, w-we stopped by Wilhelmina so he could show me around. The director there … she said she liked my look. She asked if I wanted to sign on with them, too. I didn't see the harm. It was kind of flattering. Another thing to put on the resume, right?" Kurt sits and puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine shrinks like he might shrug it off, but he doesn't. "They had me change into a swimsuit - some little red Speedo thing from the 80s. I … I had Sam take pictures," Blaine admits with a shaky smile, "in case you wanted to see." Kurt nods and smiles back, hoping Blaine's smile will stay, but it doesn't. It twitches at the corners and slips away. "They wanted to see how I looked under lights in front of a white backdrop. But then …" Blaine stops and swallows, too embarrassed to continue.

Kurt's brows pull together, an angry, incredulous heat beginning to boil behind his ears and spreading to his cheeks. "You mean, someone from the agency _drew_ those marks on you?"

Blaine doesn't speak. He simply nods.

Kurt looks the marks over. He's worked with dozens of models and photographers during his time at _Vogue_ and he's never seen anything like this. He's definitely never seen Sam come home with marks like these. What the hell …?

"What … what do they mean?"

"They're, uh …" Blaine's voice squeaks when he talks again. He clears his throat in order to continue. "They're my … problem … areas."

The heat in Kurt's cheeks shoots straight to his forehead, his brain inside his skull broiling. "What!?"

"They're the things they told me I'd have to work on if I wanted to become a model," Blaine explains. "Places where I need to build muscle … places I need to lose fat … you know …" His voice becomes thin, trails off.

"No, Blaine! I don't know!" Kurt spits. "How could you let them do this to you!? A-and what about Sam!? Why didn't he say anything!?"

"Kurt, it's okay," Blaine says with a hollow laugh, trying to diffuse Kurt's temper. "We both know I don't have the body I used to. I've been struggling with my weight for a while. It's no … it's no secret."

Kurt watches Blaine fold in on himself, more uncomfortable now than he looked when Kurt first walked in, and Kurt knows he's partially to blame for that. He shouldn't have flown off the handle. But he's done with judgmental assholes and fair-weather friends. Not that Sam is one. He's always been one of the most loyal people Kurt has ever known. Maybe he was somewhere else at the time. Maybe he was worried that if he said something, it would negatively impact his contract.

Maybe he didn't realize how much damage this could do.

Kurt really should give him the benefit of the doubt … and he will.

For now.

Kurt leans forward and kisses Blaine on the cheek. "Give me a minute. Okay?"

Blaine nods in response.

Kurt stands and heads for the bathroom. He soaks a clean washcloth in warm water and grabs a bottle of body wash from Blaine's shelf. When he returns, Blaine doesn't seem any better, hunched so far over, his forehead is almost resting on his right knee. Kurt has only seen him this withdrawn a handful of times, none of which Kurt wants to remember.

He stands in front of Blaine, blocking his view of the mirror.

"Stand up, honey."

Blaine sighs, but he doesn't move.

Kurt feels his chest squeeze. "Please, Blaine?"

Blaine takes a breath in and slowly unrolls. He stands the way Kurt asks, but he doesn't drop his arms. Standing upright, Kurt sees more x's and more circles, but he suspects that the worst of them are hiding somewhere beneath Blaine's arms.

Kurt puts a gentle hand where they cross and pushes down, doing his best not to react as they fall away.

Seeing them, though, makes Kurt want to scream. He's definitely going to make some phone calls come Monday morning.

Whoever was in charge of the Sharpie went to town on Blaine's stomach - circles overlapping circles with x's and dashes in between. The ink is smeared, having bled onto the palms of Blaine's hands as he covered himself. Kurt looks at Blaine's face, but his head is bowed, his eyes closed, a single tear threatening to break from the corner.

"I don't know who the hell those people _think_ they are, but these are not problem areas," Kurt says, wiping at the marks with the cleanser and the cloth. The marks begin to fade, but they don't go away easily. They were meant to make an impression, to bother Blaine enough that he'd force himself to change. "In fact, these areas are some of what I love most about your body."

Blaine scoffs. "How can you _say_ that?"

"How can you not see it?" Kurt says with a soft, comforting laugh. "For example, there's nothing _wrong_ with your shoulders." Kurt scrubs at dashes drawn on Blaine's traps. "They're just perfect for squeezing. Your biceps are so well-defined, and your back is _exceptional_. It makes me jealous." Kurt inches in, lips hovering beside Blaine's ear. "And when we make love, what do I grab to pull you closer? Hmm?" Kurt's hands caress Blaine's hips. The light touch makes Blaine jump, but he doesn't pull away. "They call these love handles for a reason, but there's barely anything there. And here." Kurt plants his hands on Blaine's ass, making him yelp. "Your gorgeous behind. If you lost an inch off of this, I'd mourn it forever."

"You have to think that way," Blaine mutters. "You're my husband."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I hate it when you say that, but okay. Let's talk about _you_ then."

"What about _me_?"

"Before you left our loft today, did you think you were fat?"

"N-no."

"Earlier this morning, when I had you in my mouth, were you concerned about how your thighs looked?"

A red stain blooms on Blaine's cheeks, but his expression doesn't change. "No."

"And last night, when we were talking and laughing and making love, did the thought that you had some miniscule amount of back fat ever leap into your mind?"

"No."

"No. And not that it apparently matters because I'm only your _husband_ , but it wasn't in my mind, either." Kurt smiles, showing that he's kidding, but it doesn't budge Blaine's mouth an inch. "You're perfect, Blaine. Just the way you are. And you were happy with yourself a few short hours ago. I know you've had trouble with your weight before, but you're back on track. And you've worked so hard to get here. Don't let some random stranger take that away." Kurt continues scrubbing, going back over areas where the black marker is being the most stubborn. "If you _do_ want to change something about yourself, do it for _you_ , because there's something that _you_ want to change. But if you go on some crazy binge, exercising and losing weight, because a woman you've never met before tells you that you have _problem areas_ , you are going to make yourself miserable. And then what? Her opinion's not everyone's opinion. Maybe her definition of _perfect_ looks awful to everyone else, and then where would you be? The only person whose opinion of your body matters is you, Blaine. No one else."

"Well, you, too," Blaine offers. "I want you to think I'm handsome."

"Then consider that job done," Kurt says, dropping a kiss on Blaine's forehead, "because I've thought you were handsome from the moment we met, and I've never stopped."

"You're right," Blaine concedes. "I know you're right. It was just a bit of a slap in the face to hear what they had to say."

"If you really want to be a model, come with me down to _Vogue_ where everyone knows you and loves you. Isabelle's got contacts that I know for a fact she'd threaten with complete fashion world blacklisting if they ever pulled a trick like this on you."

"Deal" – Blaine shuffles forward, standing nose to nose with Kurt, forcing Kurt to loop his arms around his waist – "but I don't want to be a model. And not because of what happened today. It seems so stressful, exercising three times a day, counting every calorie you put in your mouth. It doesn't sound like it'd be fun unless it's what you really want to do with your life."

"Good," Kurt says. "I already have to deal with people drooling over you at NYADA. I don't know how I would handle the whole world falling in love with you. Though, you know, it's only a matter of time …"

Blaine tilts his head, a subconscious smile lifting his lips. "A matter of time before what?"

Kurt kisses him on the nose, matches his smile. "Before the whole world falls in love with you."

Blaine chuckles, bashful eyes dropping to Kurt's collar. "Do you really believe that?"

"Blaine" – Kurt wraps his arms completely around Blaine's torso and hugs him, not caring one iota when soapy water starts seeping through his shirt – "I always have."


End file.
